


Mindless Majority

by Laerkstrein



Series: Without Rules [1]
Category: The Dark Knight
Genre: Alfred Pennyworth - Freeform, Bruce Wayne - Freeform, F/M, Harleen Quinnzel, Jim Gordon - Freeform, The Dark Knigh, The Joker - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-07-16
Updated: 2010-07-16
Packaged: 2017-10-10 14:13:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laerkstrein/pseuds/Laerkstrein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an impressive escape from Arkham Asylum, the chaotic Joker returns to Gotham with a vengeance and a hellion accomplice, to prove that Gotham's Dark Knight is anything but "incorruptible." (Takes place after the events in Christopher Nolan's "The Dark Knight")</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Silence

**Author's Note:**

> The Harleen Quinnzel/Harley Quinn used in this story is my personal interpretation of the character. I have not read the comics, nor do I have any particular interest in doing so.

The sickly gray walls of Arkham Asylum gave off an eerie aura that sent chills through all who wandered its corridors. The flickering lights seemed to embrace the suffocating terror within the halls, and the heavily plated steel doors that trapped the asylum's inhabitants cast a frightful glare upon the passersby.

Arkham's "best" were contained on the eighth floor, completely isolated from the goings on in the outside world. Nothing awaited such demons except the death penalty, but the chances of any of them even making it that far, were slim to none. Heavily armed guards paced the halls, keeping a watchful eye on one cell in particular. Arkham's newest addition to the "family" of maniacs, was a psychotic bastard with no ulterior motive other than to watch Gotham burn and toy with Batman.

Gotham City Police Commissioner Jim Gordon had personally delivered the lunatic to Arkham, warning the head administrator, Jerimiah Arkham, that the asylum's newest arrival was far more dangerous than Johnathan Crane and his lethal fear toxin. And that fact alone, was reason enough for Jeremiah to double the security for that special new addition. Strangely, the madman had no name, no other alias, no matches on DNA, prints, or anything else. All clothing was custom with no labels, and the only things in his pockets were lint and a large assortment of knives. Or, as Gordon had so calmly said, "Nothing in his pockets but knives and lint."

With the Joker, it was just one question after another.

The guards unfortunate enough to be assigned to watch over the mass-murdering psychopath were less than thrilled. The bone-chilling laughter that rang through the corridor was almost enough to unnerve the guards and send them into hysterics worthy of a padded cell. It was a sheer nightmare. And several of them, including the new recruits, had been so desperate to bore the Joker's nightmarish laugh from their minds, that they had taken a bullet to the head while on duty. Others had been able to find a little solitary confinement in the office of a Gotham therapist.

But for those poor bastards who survived, therapy wasn't nearly enough to cure them.

The events eventually became a sort of daily routine. The Joker would erupt into a fit of hysterical laughter, for no known reason, and the guards would either take a bullet or run like hell to inform the head administrator that they couldn't work in the madhouse any longer. The guards that remained were, obviously, more than capable of holding their own against the Joker, for which Jeremiah was grateful. One of the new recruits that had been sane enough to remain, was Mark Daniels, a six-month graduate from Gotham University.

Some of Mark's coworkers had told him that they had been at Arkham for years, which made him compare their apparent sanity to that of the freaks they monitored. The "results" weren't always very reassuring. Background stories often said a lot about a person, but Mark wasn't too sure he wanted to know the life stories of his new "friends." The dreadful silence that hung about was almost as much of a hell as the manic laughter that rang out at random intervals throughout the shifts. It was never easy trying to keep the fucking psychopath quiet, because the more they talked shit at him, the harder he'd laugh.

Unfortunately, this was one of those times.

The silence was, once again, shattered by the laughter, driving both the guards and prisoners crazy. One of the guards near the elevator shot up from his seat and stalked to the cell, loading his rifle. A card key was swiped and the door buzzed as it unlocked and opened. The guard pointed his weapon at the giggling bastard within the cell.

"Shut the fuck up, you son of a bitch. I'm through with your shit. One more outburst like that, and I'll let the Bat take care of you."

"It's the same thing every time," came the response. "You guys are almost as bad, if not worse, than those mob fools. You're all in the same sad situation. Always trying to control your pathetic little worlds..."

"This bastard's far from being a normal criminal," one of the other guards said with a snicker.

"'Normal' is such a... relative term. If you think about it, no one is 'normal'. Who's to say that all of this," the Joker waved gestured at his surroundings, "isn't 'normal', and that which we call 'abnormal' is, in fact-"

"Stow it!" the guard barked. "I don't wanna hear another word outta you! Now wipe that goddamn smirk off your face, before I come in there and blow it off!"

The door slammed, and the Joker began humming some nonsensical tune under his breath.

"You'll see," he muttered. "I'll show ya. You 'civilized' people won't last much longer... Enjoy the silence while you can. When I get outta here, the _silence_ won't come for a long time..."


	2. A Little Push

At the most unexpected moments almost every day, the bone-chilling laughter erupted from the Joker's cell, echoing throughout the corridors. Several of the other prisoners began banging on the doors; some threatening the guards, cussing each other out, or just trying to get the damned clown to shut up.

"Shut the fuck up, you lunatics!" one of the guards shouted, firing his rifle in an attempt to maintain order.

"I don't think that's gonna do anything but provoke them," Mark chimed, staring at the floor.

The other man sighed as the racket continued. "Yeah... I guess you're right."

It was about an hour before the prisoners quieted down, but the silence that followed actually... lasted.

The steady click, click, click of steel echoed down the hall, reaching the guards on duty. The sound, obviously, came from the Joker's cell, and the guards were growing tired of facing the mass-murdering clown day after day.

_What the fuck is that?_ Mark thought, motioning for a few of the other guards to follow as he headed towards the Joker's cell. The sound was making him uneasy, just like every other sound that came from the lunatic clown's cell.

He slid the card key into its proper place in the door, loading his rifle as the obnoxious buzz of the now unlocked door sounded. Backed by three other guards, Mark pushed the heavy door open and, surprisingly, found the Joker playing with a switchblade.

"How in God's name did you get that?" Mark demanded, pointing his rifle at the Joker.

"Hm?" The clown glanced up at the man, a coy grin on his painted face.

Mark glowered at the clown. "I said, where the hell did you get that?"

The Joker merely snickered, holding the knife loosely between two fingers, and humming a nonsensical tune that came out of nowhere. Mark edged his way into the cell, keeping the barrel of the gun on the Joker every second. "Answer the goddamn question, you bastard! Where the fuck did you get that?"

This bastard was really starting to wear on Mark's nerves now, and he was itching to knock some sense into the deranged freak. Even if it meant killing him. Just looking at the man was like looking at the devil incarnate. He was clearly no ordinary criminal. Sure, he seemed to be human in appearance, but behind the mask or paint was a demon straight from the innermost bowels of hell. And it was clear to all who heard his voice, that he had no sense of remorse or empathy at all. He seemed to be somewhat sane, but he projected his bloodlust and desire to watch everything burn through everything he said and did.

"_Well..._ if your security were a little tighter, then I wouldn't have gotten in here with _this_, now would I?" the Joker replied, nonchalantly tossing the knife around.

Just down the hall, the elevator doors opened, and Jeremiah Arkham stepped out, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. "What the devil is going on?" he demanded.

The door to the Joker's cell was open, he noted, and there was a rather large commotion coming from inside. To top it all off, it seemed that the clown had successfully managed to drive someone else over the damn edge. Without a second thought, Jeremiah headed right into the chaotic farce, trying to push his way through the small gathering of guards that had crowded around the door. The crowd suddenly dispersed, and the Joker could be seen holding one of the guards hostage with a switchblade through a fit of hysterical snickers.

Arkham was shocked. "What the hell is he doing with _that_?" he demanded, staring in shock at the blade.

Ignoring the administrator's question, the Joker forced his hostage against the wall, finishing the "game" with one simple question. "_Why so serious?_"

Arkham then realized that it had been a mistake to venture too close to the brewing chaos, and found himself flat on his back, staring into the Joker's manic eyes. "Wh-what do you want?" the man choked, feeling the tip of the blade at his throat. The very last thing he had expected was to be at the Joker's mercy.

"Well... There was a doctor employed here not too long ago. What was her name...?" The Joker's eyes lit up when the name rolled off his tongue. "_Harleen Quinnzel_."

_Harle_en _Quin_nzel.

Harlequin.

"She was supposedly locked up some time after Gotham ruined my fun with the ferries." His eyes were like those of a demon: dark, pursuing chaos and anarchy. It was as if Arkham were staring into the face of death's dark harbinger. "But the question is... where was she locked up? _Hm?_"

Jeremiah flinched as the blade was drawn a short distance against his flesh, drawing blood. "F-fifth floor," he choked. "Last door on the right... at the end of the first ha-" Arkham's words caught in his throat, drowning him with blood.

A smirk pulled at the corners of the Joker's scarred mouth. Although the victory was slightly disappointing, due to the lack of a challenge, it had still put him one up on the authorities. He leaned towards Jeremiah's ear, regardless of the fact that the man was dead, as he began pulling the card keys from the man's shirt, and hissed, "Do you understand _now_? All it takes is _a little push_."


End file.
